Almost Human
by Knights of Cydonian Starlight
Summary: Demons are supposed to be unfeeling. Ruthless. And Sebastian tries to convince himself that he is one hell of a butler, nothing more, nothing less.


Sara: LOL I've procrastinated posting this for SO long.

Sky: We apologize, but we have been a bit busy lately, with schoolwork and such.

Sara: I literally had this sitting in my fanfic stories folder for a month. And I'm only posting it now. Because SOMEONE decided to start working his ass off askdlfa;kd

Sky: Okay, okay, I get it, it's my fault. Now, rather than prolonging this authors' note, let's get into the story, shall we?

Sara: Yay! Just some (not so much) warnings: Sebastian's POV, angst, some OOCness ~ Enjoy guys!

Summary: Demons are supposed to be unfeeling. Ruthless. And Sebastian tries to convince himself that he is one hell of a butler, nothing more, nothing less.

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><p>His Butler, Protector<p>

I could feel it, something deep inside me, tearing at my very demonic core. Something changed, something was different, something was not right.

I was not myself.

./. .\.

"The aroma of this tea… It is too weak."

I glanced sharply at my young master as he shoved away the teacup in mild disdain. Lifting the lid of the china teapot I had specially ordered, I sniffed lightly, picking up the too-faint aroma as well. I sighed. Missed the scoop for the pot, it seemed. I bowed lowly, letting disappointment creep into my tone.

"Forgive me, young master. I shall fetch you another pot shortly."

The boy nodded absently, taking a bite of his scone. "You seem… distracted lately, Sebastian," he said, the words almost rueful.

I turned to my young master and smiled my most charming smile, ignorant to the subtle clenching of my chest at the small act of failure.

"Clean up your act, Sebastian. That's an order." He went back to his work, and for a while I could hear nothing but the soft scratching of his quill.

Finally, I stooped into another low bow, closing my eyes. "Yes, my Lord," I murmured, my eternal refrain.

I left my master then, to prepare for dinner. I searched my pocket for my watch, clicking it open and narrowing my eyes at the time shown.

Damn. Five minutes past schedule.

./. .\.

Bard was already in the kitchen, blasting the place to ashes with his flamethrower while Finian and Mey-Rin tried to quell the fire. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. Such insolence should not be tolerated by a Phantomhive butler.

"Bard. Mey-Rin. Finian." My voice was soft, authoritative. They stopped their foolish dance immediately.

"I shall clean up this mess," I continued, nudging a charred and broken plate with the toe of my shoe. "You all go somewhere where you won't make a fuss, and I must ask you to _behave_."

The cigarette fell out of Bard's lips, and he, Finian, and Mey-Rin saluted me in an almost fearful manner.

"Yes, Sebastian!"

Once they were out of my sight, I set to work on the kitchen, first picking up the broken shards of china and glass before any major injury could be sustained.

"Damn," I muttered and winced as my finger slid against the edge of a piece of broken china. I removed my torn glove and glanced at the new cut across my thumb, the blood oozing lazily out of the broken skin and trying to clot. As I stared at the wound, I felt a sudden pain clutch my finger and gasped.

It was incomparable to anything I'd ever felt before. Not to my young master's harsh, spiteful slaps across the face. Not even to the pain I felt when the angel, Angela, whipped me close to submission.

No, this pain, so concentrated in that one slice of the skin of my thumb, felt like _fire_.

And it was shocking because it was such a little cut! Something that would have previously healed instantly, bringing me no pain whatsoever. Now what looked like a mere _paper cut _gave me enough pain to clutch the wound and hold my finger to my chest, gasping in panic.

The feeling was strange. Different. _Human_.

./. .\.

"Good night, young master."

I took the candelabra with me to the hallway as I bid my master sweet dreams. As I made a move to blow out the flames, he called me, stopping me in mid-breath.

"Sebastian."

"Yes, young master," I said, turning back to him and smiling in mock cheer. He eyed me in suspicion as he sat up in bed, his violet eye searching for the secret I held in my demonic core. My smile widened and I cocked my head to the side, knowing he would find none.

"Che," he scoffed after a while, closing his eyes and leaning on the pillows once more. "You're acting weird lately, Sebastian. More… _affectionate_. Vulnerable. I don't like it."

My smile widened further, except this time it was rather more pained than amused.

"Our contract has released some of the human characteristics in me, my lord," I answered smoothly, never taking my eyes off of his face.

My young master's eyes widened at the implications of the statement, but narrowed once more when he noticed the subtle laughter in my eyes.

"Che," he repeated, throwing the blanket over his head. "I don't like it." He was silent for a while, a sign of a dismissal.

"Good night, young master," I sighed. I bowed lowly and stepped out into the hallway, blowing out the candelabra and plunging myself into utter darkness. It almost frightened me that my once-sharp demon eyes could now barely make out the outlines of the furniture.

"Worry not, my lord," I murmured, more to myself than anybody else as I walked down the pitch black hallway. "I am still one _hell_ of a butler."

Then I turned on my heel and made my way out of the mansion, to seek the answers to the questions that could mean my master's life… or death.

./. .\.

I found the Undertaker in the reapers' library as he shelved way-past-overdue Cinematic Records, chuckling to himself every now and then at some unknown joke. Although I assumed that he could hear me coming from the second I entered the vast hall, he twirled on his toes to face me when I approached him, a look of feigned surprise on his half-covered face.

The Undertaker's death scythe immediately sliced through the air, aimed at my throat. Rather than dodging the blade, I merely stood in place, feeling the sharp metal tear my butler's uniform. Ah well, another thing to mend…

But once again, I found myself on my knees, clutching at the copiously bleeding wound as red began to spread to the collar of my shirt, across my gloves. The Undertaker watched without a word, yet I could hear him snicker in amusement. The pain was horrendous.

"Ooh, it's the Phantomhive _Butler_," Undertaker simpered, tipping my chin up with the end of his scythe. His toothy smile was nothing less than unnerving considering that I had already bled upwards of a litre of blood all over his robes. "What is the meaning of this?" he continued. "Come to give me some more of that delectable laughter I so enjoy?"

I coughed and spoke to him through a haze of pain. "I have heard that you may be experienced with the problem that I now face. I need your help. Quickly."

Undertaker smiled and shouldered his death scythe. He regarded me in cold fascination now, his piercing nails clutching the scarred side of his face.

"Sit down, dear demon. I just might do you a little favour today, despite how much I love your Kansai-style manzai acts." He laughed. "We can talk over a cup of tea."

./. .\.

Out of habit, I poured cups of tea that I knew neither Undertaker nor I would drink. I clutched the china in my hands as I sat on a library bench, the warmth from the cup seeping pleasantly through my gloves.

Of course, Undertaker had to break the silence with an almost amused question.

"You believe you are beginning to care for your young master?" he mused. "Outside of a demon butler's requirements, of course."

I grimaced, then sighed in defeat. The response was as good as a confession. Undertaker laughed once more, a biting sound that seemed all too familiar to me now.

"And what do you expect _me_ to do about that, _Sebastian_? How can a _reaper_ possibly help a _demon_?" It was like he was dangling a carrot in front of my face. Goddamn that wretched sense of humour of his...

"I just want you to tell me what is wrong!" I snapped in irritation, throwing my teacup to the floor. It shattered at my feet, soaking my shoes through with Darjeeling.

"I heard that you know of a case like mine before!" My voice became soft, pleading. "Please. I do not know how my young master may be affected by this, so please help me."

Undertaker thought for a moment, fingering his death scythe beside him. My eyes followed his every move, just in case.

"Very well then, Butler," he said finally. He reached over to a towering bookshelf beside us, pulling a rather thick volume and dusting off its cover. "I present to you the Cinematic Record of the demon Lawrence Rowe, whom I believe experienced the same circumstances that you are going through now."

The volume fell heavily in my lap, bringing up clouds of dust. I sneezed.

"Page three-hundred-and-forty-seven, Butler," Undertaker said carelessly. I nodded and flipped to the corresponding page.

"Lawrence Rowe…" I murmured aloud, and then began read silently to myself.

He was an average low-ranking demon, contracted to a poor schoolboy who yearned for his superiors' approval. The demon did everything in his power to ensure the boy's happiness, falsifying marks, creating lies, bribes. But it wasn't enough, the boy's parents still beat him, his teachers threw abuse. The poor boy's mind even turned on him after a while.

But the demon never left the boy's side, even though his soul eventually grew tasteless. The event was quite a spectacle in the underworld, the news even reaching higher ranking demons like me. Once _my_ young master had shown a moment of weakness, I had abandoned him, even for just a short time. Unfeeling, ruthless… That's how demons are. That's how demons should be.

Lawrence Rowe proved himself unworthy to be a demon.

My hands shook, and the pages of the book began to crumple under my fingertips. "What is the meaning of this, reaper?" I gritted through my teeth, my words almost mirroring his perfectly. Undertaker grinned and his face contorted wickedly, perhaps the most inhuman expression I had ever seen on his face before.

"Don't you understand, Butler – no, _Sebastian_?" Undertaker sneered. "Lawrence Rowe was becoming… _human_."

"But what does that have to do with _me_?" I demanded in a biting tone, and before I knew it I was pushing him against a bookshelf, my hands clutching the edge of his robes. I was going to get my damn answers, and I was going to get them _now_ if it meant strangling that _goddamned_ reaper.

"Lawrence Rowe became soft toward his master," Undertaker spat at me, and it was clear that he was enjoying my discomfort. "He was a demon no longer, and he became _human_." The reaper's tongue curled over the word in disgust. "And… he died, Sebastian. He died four years after his master's death in an asylum. Suicide, they say, on both of their parts."

A pregnant pause. His collar slipped from my hands, and he fell gracefully on the balls of his feet, straightening the folds of his garb. Meanwhile, I was going to pieces in my head, trying to grip at the edges of my mind and tell myself that I was a demon, one hell of a butler. I was not Lawrence Rowe, a low level demon who became too fond of his master.

No, I told myself. I was not Lawrence Rowe. I was not human.

./. .\.

I went back to the mansion in a state of false calm. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose as trees whipped around me, and I couldn't help but sense that the wind against my face was less severe, slower. Did that mean that _I_ was slower? No, I told myself, perhaps there just wasn't any wind today…

As I pushed through the last stretch of trees, all was quiet. But then, just as I was about to reach the mansion door, gunshots greeted me, and a bullet lodged itself in the door just above my head. By now I was used to attacks on the Phantomhive mansion, from the Ferro family to the Noah's Ark Circus freaks, but _now_? I was nothing short of furious.

Already poised to attack, I pulled a set of silverware from my breast pocket and flung the knives at my attackers. But rather than hearing the pitiful screams of the humans dropping to their knees, the silver came short, dropping uselessly to their feet.

_Damn_, was all I could think.

I barged into the entrance hall and closed the door before the bullets found their way into my chest. I had no idea what kind of damage they could do to me now. After all I was becoming - _no_, I wouldn't think about that now...

I had more important things to worry about.

The most pressing was the air that crushed my lungs. I could smell smoke and burning wood, the acrid taste of it burning my throat. I pulled my sleeve up to my face in an attempt to stifle my breath.

"Sebastian!"

Finian, Mey-Rin, and Bard greeted me simultaneously from the bottom of the grand staircase, rifles already in hand. Mey-Rin's glasses hung loosely in her hair, and Bard's cigarette was held in his teeth tighter than usual.

"Do your duty!" I cried, pulled out of my previous train of thought as I fled passed them and up the stairs to my master's suite. I could only imagine his fear, his panic if there really was a fire somewhere in his home. The smoke was becoming thick, blinding me.

"Defend this mansion, even if it costs you your lives!"

The three servants nodded and gave a respectful salute. "Yes, sir!"

I left them in search of my young master. As I climbed up the staircase, I could sense it, the fear pooling in his chest, flowing through his veins. It was just like that day, the day his parents died, the day his home burned down, the day I was bound by Faustian contract to him… until the final call of "checkmate". Until the end.

I never knew that he would meet such a sticky, messy end.

"Young Master!" I called, coughing into my once white butler's gloves. They were stained with soot and ash. I would have to wash them later…

But then I felt the twinge of fear, of panic pulling my heart towards him, and I couldn't help but comply. I stumbled up the crumbling stairs to his study, where I knew he would be, by demonic instinct or habitual schedule I did not know.

"Young Master!"

"Sebastian!" the reply finally came, the voice weak. The connection was going bad, I could barely hear him, but I could only hope that it would last just a little while longer…

I burst through the study's door, and immediately fell prey to a wall of fire.

"Sebastian!"

"Young Master!"

I could taste the dry, sandy ash in my throat, and it took all my will not to swallow as I called for my master who was trying to batter off the flames all by himself. The smoke was maddening, hazing my brain, and I could see heat shimmers before my eyes…

"Sebastian…"

The voice was pleading now, almost commanding were it not for the pain that marred his tone.

"Young Master…"

My eyes somehow found his and I looked into his blue, blue eye, sparkling with unshed tears. Raw panic was neatly concealed, but even so I could see the dilated pupils, the lips parted slightly in fear. He was going to die, he knew, but I wouldn't have it.

With an almost feral growl, I attempted to tear through the flames, but as soon as I stepped forth my eyes watered and I fell back in pain. My vision swirled and my head roared, and I could feel the burn that came from a stray flame singing its way through my shoe. _Dammit!_ I wanted to curse the world, I wanted to curse the _damn thing that made up the rules_ because it was not fair, how could a _demon_ turn _human_, how could a _butler _not save and protect his _master_?

I looked up in horror, to see my master burning before my very eyes. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off of me, and his mouth was moving. I couldn't hear the words, and I wanted to brave the fire again just to bring my master back safe, to have him alive in my arms…

But then his voice, his voice was like a siren song.

"Sebastian!" he roared over the din of the flames. His cheeks were tinged red, covered in sweat and his chin was quivering, but his head was high and he stood tall, and for all the world he looked like who he deserved to be, Earl Ciel Phantomhive.

"My Lord…"

"Sebastian!" my master called again, an almost wild look in his cerulean eye as he shuddered through some of his last breaths. "Sebastian, you are still connected to me, yes?"

I nodded, feeling a mixture of soot and sweat and _stupid_ human tears trickle down my cheeks and into the collar of my shirt. He knew what was happening all along, why I was acting so strange, why I could not fulfill my duty as a Phantomhive butler. It was just like my young master. "Y-yes, my Lord," I replied around a mouthful of ash.

My master took a dignified breath and brought his hand up to his right eye. My own eyes widened as he tore off the black silk patch and threw it to the scorching wood floor. I saw it shrivel and disappear in a wisp of smoke as the temperature of the room rapidly increased.

That shockingly purple eye stared right through me, its circumscribed pentagram visible even while the room was shivering in the heat. It seemed to see right through me, into the soul that should have never existed.

Ciel Phantomhive ground his teeth. His voice was hoarse, his tone trembling, but he still managed to make the blasted symbol on the back of my hand glow violet. My eyes burned a blood red and I wanted to scream as he gave the order that would be his doom:

"Sebastian Michaelis, this is an order! Leave this mansion at once! Do not worry about my safety, just _get out of here_!"

"Yes, my Lord!"

I gasped as I bent forward, forced into a bow. I felt an invisible string tug at my heart, pulling me away from my beloved master. My face contorted with pain and betrayal as my feet swept myself away of their own accord. My job as a butler was to prioritize my master's safety, but now my _human_ fight or flight instinct chose _flight_. I could no longer speak, or cry out in utter damnation; the ash had deadened my throat.

I took one last look at my ma – no, my former master. He had fallen to his knees, and his eyes were closed. He could have been the image of a fallen angel, lost in its last prayer.

Ciel Phantomhive watched my retreating figure, a look of resignation on both of our faces. The young master closed his eyes and looked to the heavens, a whisper on his lips that none but the angels could hear.

"Etch the pain deep into my soul as proof that I lived."

./. .\.

Later, much, much later we examined the rubble that was once the Phantomhive estate. No possessions salvaged, no bodies found. Not even Earl Phantomhive's.

Behind me, I could hear the quiet sobbing of Mey-Rin, Finian, Bard, and what seemed to be a sympathetic sighing coming from Tanaka. Pluto was howling a soft, mournful song, grief of the loss of one of its owners ringing through every wail.

I scavenged myself through the mounds of rock and ash for something, _anything_ of my master's to keep. I clenched my hand, narrowed my eyes. The circumscribed pentagram was almost gone from the back of my hand, now just a faint scar adorning the pale skin.

Somewhere toward the back of the pile I saw something bright blue catch my eye. Almost like my for – _no_, I refused to think in past tense – master's eyes.

It was the Phantomhive family ring, shimmering in the morning sun. The blue diamond looked almost comically out of place in the wreckage, the silver band still fully intact.

Kneeling, I picked up the thing, crushing it in my fists while shaking with grief. But then that sparkle of blue caught my eye, and I just had to stop and sigh at its beauty.

For a moment I kneeled there, gathering the haphazard thoughts scattered through my head. Then, shedding my soiled glove, I slid the ring on my finger, replacing the glove once more. I held my hand before my face, examining it in the rising sun.

No one would notice.

As I walked away from the remnants of the once mighty Phantomhive estate, I looked back. I want to say that I saw the ghost of a boy there, playing with a Funtom ark or drinking tea and eating sweets. I want to say that I felt someone smiling down at me from the heavens, as if that could really happen anyway.

But I felt nothing, as I should. Once a Faustian contract is broken, it cannot be repaired.

As I walked away from the estate to join my fellow servants and demonic hound, I didn't look back. I knew he would not hear me, but if there was even the slimmest possibility he could, I hoped that he would care.

"_Good-bye_,_ my Lord. Good-bye… Ciel Phantomhive._"

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><p>Sara: Hehe ^^ So that's it! I hope you liked it :) Looking back on it it doesn't seem to make any sense to me lol. OH and just one more thing, that line "five minutes past schedule" is my tumblr name (fiveminutespastschedule)! :) You can follow me if you want ;D Anyway, Thanks guys for reading, and if you could drop a review that would be fantastic! Ja, until next story ~<p> 


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